


I'll Keep You Warm Like A Sweater

by bella_my_clarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Lots of that, NOTHING BUT FLUFF WHAT IS THIS, bellarke modern au, everyone calling bellamy out on it, including himself, mutual pining but the cute kind where you're not angry, then bellamy calling out clarke ooh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8725504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bella_my_clarke/pseuds/bella_my_clarke
Summary: Contrary to what all their friends said, Bellamy and Clarke didn’t agree to be roommates for some ‘ulterior motives,’ unless convenience and making sure a certain someone didn’t die from food poisoning counted. Anyway, they were best friends; it didn’t have to be weird. Even if Bellamy had wondered before what it would be like to live together together, and sometimes had to pretend to be working on something important when she came into the kitchen first thing in the morning with her wrinkled shirt and her mussed hair so he wouldn’t choke on his cereal. It didn’t have to be weird. Honest.
Or: bellarke as mutually pining roommates





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@snowballamyblake on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40snowballamyblake+on+tumblr).



> Literally @snowballamyblake on tumblr gave me the prompt to be, quote, "disgustingly fluffy." That's this fic. Literally just straight fluff. You're welcome

If there were three pillars of things to know about Clarke, it would be these: sass, art, and cuddling. Of course, there were plenty of other things to know about her – like how she couldn’t cook or clean to save her life, and was simultaneously the most organized and disorganized person you could ever meet, and had the sort of smile that made everything else blur around her – but, yeah. Sass, art, and cuddling about summed her up.

Bellamy was a bit of an expert on the subject, being Clarke’s roommate and all.

Contrary to what all their friends said, Bellamy and Clarke didn’t agree to be roommates for some ‘ulterior motives,’ unless convenience and making sure a certain someone didn’t die from food poisoning counted. Anyway, they were best friends; it didn’t have to be weird. Even if Bellamy had wondered before what it would be like to live _together_ together, and sometimes had to pretend to be working on something important when she came into the kitchen first thing in the morning with her wrinkled shirt and her mussed hair so he wouldn’t choke on his cereal. It didn’t have to be weird. Honest.

Although Clarke wasn’t helping, with the whole cuddling thing.

The thing about Clarke was she wasn’t just a cuddler—she was an _aggressive_ cuddler, and she made every excuse to cuddle, too. When she was happy, she cuddled. When she was sad, she cuddled. When she was _hungry,_ she cuddled. Bellamy was so used to being cuddled anytime he sat down he felt a huge gaping space whenever Clarke wasn’t with him.

Not that he was complaining, of course—Clarke was warm and cute and soft and it gave him the excuse to press his face into her hair and hold her without feeling like a total creep. Which maybe he was anyway, but it wasn’t like he ever initiated cuddling; that was all her. If she didn’t want to cuddle, he gave her space. Simple as that.

Today was a sad cuddling day. Clarke had run into her cheating ex-boyfriend Finn at work and it hadn’t gone well, and as soon as Bellamy greeted her she basically barreled into his arms, burying her face into his shoulder. After a moment to blink at her intensity, Bellamy hugged her back and said, “Netflix then?”

She nodded and released him for the five seconds it took to sit on their couch – Bellamy shouldn’t’ve felt such pride at calling it their couch, they were roommates – and then she curled back into his side, tucking her legs up on the couch and fitting herself against him. He wrapped an arm around her casually, running his hand up and down her arm in a comforting gesture, and turned on the latest episode of the Flash.

It was pretty clear by about ten minutes in Clarke wasn’t paying attention, busying herself instead with playing with Bellamy’s free hand, which was one of her tics when she was upset. He turned his face to her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She looked up and he sucked in a breath of surprise at how close they were; their noses nearly touched. Slowly, she shook her head. “He was a jerk and I don’t care what he thinks about me. I just hate feeling like I’ve lost arguments.”

“Really? I never would’ve guessed that about you,” Bellamy teased, trying to lighten the mood. It worked; she smiled a little and rolled her eyes before settling her head back onto his collarbone and focusing on the show. Feeling a little bold, he ducked his head to press his lips to her hair briefly—not the first time he’d done it, but certainly not a common thing either. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind.

He spent the remainder of the night watching Iris and Barry smile at each other on the screen and trying not to think about how much it looked like him and Clarke.

-

A few days later, Clarke had to leave for a week-long business trip, which shouldn’t have felt like a big deal, but for Bellamy it was. He and Clarke were rarely apart for longer than twelve hours, much less almost two hundred. The only relief was that Clarke seemed as unhappy about it as she did—she reminded him to Skype her, and that she’d have her phone on her in case he needed anything, and she wouldn’t need him to pick her up at the airport unless something went horribly wrong.

Then she was gone, and Bellamy was left wondering what he was supposed to do with himself until she got back.

There was work, of course, but he taught at an elementary school, so his hours left lots of time at home with nothing to do, and Clarke was so busy they only had an hour to talk a day, which meant he had way too much free time on his hands. He didn’t want to spend it at their apartment, though, because it was empty and sad without his roommate/best friend/hopeless crush there, so he turned to his friends for options.

**Bellamy:** Hey, what are you doing tonight?

**Raven:** wasn’t going to do anything. why do you ask

**Bellamy:** Clarke just left for her trip….

**Raven:** poor baby. hold on i’ll see about the others since you still don’t understand group chats apparently

**Bellamy:** Hey, they’re weird and annoying and I don’t know how to make them stop buzzing at me.

She got back to him quickly and they decided on going to their old favorite meet-up spot from college, the Dropship, with the whole gang that still lived in town. On other occasions, Bellamy might’ve washed up or something, but since he didn’t really care what he looked like to any of his friends, he just got out of his PJs and headed out.

Raven and Monty were already there when he arrived, because they couldn’t stand not being on time so they came early to everything, just in case. Octavia came a few minutes late (fashionably, she told him), and Miller, Jasper, and Murphy, per usual, came fifteen minute later than even the late times they promised to arrive at. Once they settled in – Bellamy, being the mom friend he was, batted away the alcohol menu from them because he knew they couldn’t be trusted with anything stronger than diet soda past eight o’clock – conversations started up. There was some talk about Raven’s work, since she was too cool for everyone else and had to work at NASA of all places, and Jasper had plenty of outlandish stories of his own, but quickly everyone’s attention turned to Bellamy, because for once he had initiated social interaction and, for him, that was sort of out there. Especially when Clarke wasn’t there.

“So, what time did Clarke leave today?” Miller asked, already with that mischievous glint in his eye.

“Two-thirty,” Bellamy said automatically. “I was going to get a sub for the end of the school day so I could take her up to the airport, but she insisted she could just drive herself and leave the car there.”

“Withdrawal symptoms kicking in yet?” Miller teased, and Bellamy rolled his eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer (especially a true one).

“What’s it like living with Clarke anyway?” asked Murphy, who had just moved back into town after several years of ‘finding himself’ (which meant dabbling in vaguely illegal activities before meeting his current girlfriend, Emori).

Bellamy shrugged casually, even though his heart did a dramatic flip-flop at the question. “Same as most roommates, I guess. She’s messy and an awful cook, but she does her part in other ways. We argue plenty, but usually over dumb things we can settle quickly. She’s also the sassiest person ever, but she makes it up by being cuddly, though I guess you guys already know that.”

He was met with blank stares.

“What?” Monty asked, breaking the silence at last.

Suddenly Bellamy felt exposed somehow; his cheeks warmed uncomfortably. “Does she not…never mind. Forget I said anything.”

But, of course, being his friends, the others had to be jerks and do the exact opposite of forgetting what he said. “Clarke _cuddles_ with you?” Raven demanded, leaning over the table.

Bellamy sunk back into his chair. “It’s her coping method. A way to unwind.”

“Not with anyone but you, apparently,” Jasper noted with a grin.

“She doesn’t _live_ with anyone but me,” Bellamy pointed out, but his stomach had abandoned all logic and was busy tying itself into enthusiastic knots.

“That fact in itself should tell you something, really,” Murphy said. “Also, the fact that I was more surprised you’d moved in together platonically than that you’d moved in together at all.”

“Whatever,” Bellamy grumbled, officially giving up on trying to convince them otherwise after that. He tried to change the subject to something else to spare himself the awkwardness, but they had hooked onto his pathetic pining like vultures and so he spent the next hour or so suffering his friends’ wrath and torment.

-

Needless to say, he was a little nervous skyping Clarke the next day.

She connected right on time, though she looked a little worse for wear; her blouse was crumpled and the meticulous bun she used when talking to clients had turned more into the kind she wore when she first woke up in the morning (which did not help Bellamy’s nerves at _all,_ by the way). “Rough day?” he asked, working hard to keep his voice and expression even.

“You could say that,” she said through a yawn. There were already dark circles under her eyes from the past two days.

Bellamy frowned and leaned towards the laptop, concerned. “What time is it over there again?”

“Oh, ten-thirty or something,” Clarke said. “Not too bad.”

“Do you need to get more sleep before your last day?” Bellamy asked. “If you’re tired, we can skip this today and just talk a little longer tomorrow, since you have more time….”

“Are you serious?” Clarke said, surprising him. “I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you. Sleep shmeep.”

Despite himself, Bellamy grinned. “All right then. How was your day today?”

“Long and boring, with a distinct lack of cuddling,” she said, giving him a sideways smirk at that last one. Bellamy’s stomach flopped over. “I got a lot done, though, I guess, which is good. Maybe they’ll let me come home early if I’m productive.”

“Knowing your productivity level, then, I’ll never see you again,” Bellamy teased, starting to close the laptop lid as if in goodbye.

“Hey! Hey!” Clarke whined; he could almost imagine her tapping the screen like it would force him to obey, sporting her famous puppy eyes just for added measure. “That’s mean. Come back.”

He rolled his eyes but lifted the lid so she could see his face and she smiled, satisfied. “You’re so needy,” he scolded, though he wasn’t complaining.

“Only with my roommate,” she shrugged.

Bellamy swallowed hard; his stomach was tangling itself into nervous knots. “Do you only cuddle with your roommate, too?”

Clarke froze. “What?”

“I think you heard me,” Bellamy said, as evenly as he could despite the fact there was a lot of screaming going on in his head.

“I…why do you ask?” Clarke asked, deflecting the question.

“Why are you avoiding it?” Bellamy countered, avoiding the question himself.

“Well—it’s a weird question.”

“It’s not a weird question.” Just an awkward one. “We live together, Clarke; I might as well know why.”

Even through the screen, he could see her cheeks flush darkly. “You know why we live together. You needed a house and I needed someone competent at living in one.”

“Two years ago, maybe,” he mumbled.

“Bellamy, what are you trying to say?” Clarke said at last, and he nearly gaped because she sounded genuinely _confused._ How had she not figured this out before?

“I’m saying,” he said, slowly and carefully, “that if you really just want someone to clean the house and cook food, tell me now so I can stop getting my hopes up.”

There were nearly thirty seconds of silence before Clarke even moved. Then she dragged a hand across her face. “Could you not have waited to have this conversation with me until I got home?”

Bellamy’s heart dropped right to his feet. “Why?”

Was Clarke _smirking_ behind her hand? “Because now I have to wait four days to kiss you, you idiot.”

Five seconds passed before Bellamy could breathe, and when he spoke his voice was strangled. “Oh?”

“The worst part is I managed to hold off for _years_ without issue,” she continued. Bellamy only half heard her; the other half of him was wondering how to throw himself through the computer screen. “And the first moment I don’t have a good opportunity, you have to go and do this.” She shook her head reproachfully, but she was grinning.

“You’re the one who stayed quiet for years!” Bellamy protested.

“Hm. Fair enough,” Clarke said. “Tell you what—I’ll make it up when I get home.”

Was his heart beating? He really couldn’t tell at this point. “Start by being productive and coming back fast.”

She only smiled.

-

The next few days were by far the longest of Bellamy’s life living with Clarke, besides maybe when she got into a crash and they refused to let him in the room until everything was finished. He didn’t even fill it with spending time with his friends, mostly because he knew they would figure it out and tease him horribly; he just worked, slept, and talked to Clarke.

The day she came home was especially annoying, because it was a Saturday so he had absolutely nothing to fill his time. He managed, though, cleaning and cooking and preparing eighty different ways to greet her, all of which he threw away for one reason or another. He also changed four times before giving up and just wearing a t-shirt and jeans, because if Clarke had really had a crush on him for years – a fact he was still not quite wrapping his head around – she would’ve surely had to have liked him in casual clothes as much as formal.

Part of him wished he could pick her up from the airport and not have all this waiting, but, as she so coyly reminded him last night, they’d have an audience and a drive home to worry about.

He was looking out the window when the car pulled up and almost fell over in his excitement going to the door. Impatiently he listened as the steps grew louder and louder until a quiet knock came at the door, then he flung it open and was met with a grinning Clarke, suitcase in hand.

She stepped inside and dropped her suitcase as he shut the door behind them, never losing his gaze. “Hey, Bella—”

His mouth on hers cut her off promptly; she melted under his touch, wrapping her arms insistently around his neck as he curled his hands around her back, pressing her closer and letting his brain functions dissolve around the aching presence of her in his arms, in their house. Together, finally.

Clarke pulled away first, resting her forehead against his. He watched her steady her breathing, eyes down, before brushing away a lock of hair from her face. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a split-second, then she met his gaze and smiled. “Nice greeting. Did you practice that one?”

“Actually, I was going to say something romantic beforehand,” Bellamy said, a little sheepishly, “but I knew I’d screw it up so I figured I’d skip to the last part.”

“Good choice,” she agreed, nodding seriously. She slipped her fingers into his hair. “Very good choice.”

Later, after they’d eaten dinner – he’d spent _time_ on that food, all right? Plus Clarke hadn’t eaten well in a week – they curled up on the couch, like they always did, and they stayed there until she fell asleep, breath on his collar, hand on his chest. Then he closed his eyes, rested his face against his hair, and whispered, “I love you, Clarke.”

When she woke up, she would say it back, but for now, all he needed was the warmth of her next to him and the surety that before, now, and forever, she’d be there. Clarke would always stay with him. That was declaration enough.

**Author's Note:**

> @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx on tumblr <3
> 
> tell me your thoughts!


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